A King's Downfall Zack Ragozzino
Lying in agonizing pain
My torso begins to contort.
Yesterday, I was king.
Now I lie, gargling my blood and saliva.
The lacerations on my back flow velvet.
My memories dwindle.
My hopes dwindle.
I dwindle.
My carpet, once silky smooth,
now soaks in the creamy remnants
of my defeated soul.
What will be left of me?
My festering corpse?
the feeling is bittersweet
as I lie here.
As my meloncholy brain
leaks sweet juices out my ears
and onto the ebony carpeting.
The gashes on my body will never fade,
but my conciousness will.
As the Night Fades Elise Kronquist
The ink-black ebony velvet flows
gracefully through the window in a
luminous cascade over the pale,
moonlight floor. in the latticed window,
the moon shines like an ivory spark
against the midnight blue mist of the
night sky.
a loquacious clock chimes the stroke of
midnight, its deep resonant tones filling
the otherwise silky silence, its ethereal
eloquence unfurling into the melancholy shadows
of night, before surrendering to the noiseless chocolate
darkness once more. a silence so deep,
it reaches the elegant stars.
through the soft, deep
dark, the stars drift about
like feathers swallowed by a swathe
of icy winter wind.
their celestial beauty
illuminating the opaque darkness.
just beyond the horizon line, the sun
unfurls its thousand-fold petals like
a bud bursting into bloom, rays
lighting up the edge of the sky-
the edge of the world.
the serene moon sinks
lower in the sky, its delicate beauty
ephemeral as the sun dawns
in the bittersweet break of the
day.
Each Day Is A Rendezvous With Confusion Diana Oppenheimer
My fine fiend,
Let me tell you about the day
I just succint a hole in one and
Last night
A dashing young spark appeared
Amid the superfluous ultimatums of the council
Aroma arrived from Rome
He, a mortician by trade, said
Very gravely,
"Sleeping Beauty shtick her finger on a dwindle
And died."
Oh, horror.
We wept against the shenanigans of the world,
So that the Pope was moved to say:
"Haebeus Corpus"
With such fever that his audience immediately
Took to their beds with
Nuclear temperatures.
Phosphorus the signs all say
Phos will seize power for us.
And the Scarlet Pumpernickel will ride again,
Never fear, they cry.
But I say nothing.
Sai,
I breathe irrevocably,
Because who
Really
Knows what to think.
Quite a Quandary...Cameron Smith
I'm in quite the quandaryYou see, it started with a few shenanigans.I didn't mean for it to end in lacerationsOr a nuclear meltdownOr Marxism.My quandary is whether or not to tell the livid CzarThat I used oranges to disintergrate the phosphorus stabilizerOranges are irrelevant, sorryI meant to say citrus.I guess I just have fruit on the mindLuscious, velvet fruitThey have such a lovely aroma.SorryI shouldn't have played alchemist.I didnt want to cause such a massacreThat resulted in the manslaughter of the Arch-Duke.I give my condolencesfor causing world war three. A Sea of WordsBy Isabel Skene
Dive into the depths of the sea of wordsSee them elegantly twisting and turningSerene, silent in the ebb and flow of the waterThey are whisperingCan you hear them? The delicate words with their melancholy tuneLuminous in the clear blue waterPass by poignant, it cools its feathers in the shallowsSkirt pass skittish, the letters contort themselvesAs they dart nervously away Deeper and deeper into the sea, the sky is auburn and the water below is black as ebonyThe darkness closes in, but the words remainJuxtapose, loquacious, porcupineThey roll through the waves,Their sharp consonants skipping over the sandy floorCaught in a riptide of quintessentialFloat past a school of enigmatic, Scales flashing as they flit to and froSuffocated in a swarm of discomfitureGnashing their teeth as they battleOver the lone indigenous, the intended prayIt is too fast for themA spark of irrevocable,the light reflecting of the twin r's, like a pair of soldiers standing at attentionA current catches, and drags the words in with the tideThe sea is devoid of words, the light dwindlesIt is over.
Rainby Voni Kengla
Beyond the windowthroughout the serene forestsa delicate mis begins to swarmIts melancholy gracedwindles into furythunder crashes its cymbalslightning illuminates the skyMy house is under siegeIt pounds upon the roofloud as marbles on hardwood floorthe wind whips the helpless, drooping willow treesthe storm drowns the bright flowers in its angeras the winds blow their penultimate gusts,the mist returnsthe silky leaves of dripping plantsand the velvet, soggy dirtand the fresh aromaof rainlingers An Oboist's Viewby Neeka Safdari Oblong oboe in hand,the performer descended elegantly upon the staircase,leading her to a serene, awed crowd,in front of whom she played a delicate, uplifting piece.Gracefully,she left the previously lethargic mass to dance.Once the newly infatuated audience clapped in dazzled wonderment,she quaintly bowed, allowing a slight smile to take her lips,for she knew the crowd enjoyed each falsetto, each note she played,and she felt extraordinary. Daylight Come At Last By Blake Peebles
The dregs of hate. The meloncholy slosh of ebony night.A silky malice amon the darkness.Hope is lost.Lost.But then a spark,a quick flit of love.The elvenesse curve of daylight come at last.Luminous, magical, delicate hope.Hope.
Somber Summer's EveBy Julia Porter As the sunlight dwindled,A serene essence fell on the room.Silky eyelashes flutteredIn a melancholy grace.Auburn hair illuminatedThe delicate features luminous.Bittersweet emotions rose then fell,The velvet mist settled on an ebony sky. ReleaseBy Rachel Rise I sit.Shadows flit by in my head.They fumigate me,eviscerating my conscience.Quietly a lattice of nothingsnakes itself through my shell,slinking far beyond the depthsof my perception. "Hello," it says."This is the zodiac speaking." It its deep ebony fibers,there is a new growth.It feeds on my festering emotionand releases its burrs to the remains.It contorts me into shadow. "I'm waiting," it says. I understand what it means.I cough, gargle, hurlup the dregs of my human soul.A black mist fills my head.A bittersweet release.
The Diabetic Melissa Liu
Melancholy starved him, The gloom ate his heart as It suddenly caught fire, A luminous sight. He watched the auburn flames engulf his body. He watched his untamed, tawny hair catch on fire. He watched as a bottle appeared in hand, The elixir that contained all the happiness drained from him. His feeble hand rose, Lifting the flask of gold, But fell back as the holocaust spread to his hands. The elixir flowed out like molten gold, The intoxicating aroma filled his mind The tingling, warm sensation spread through his body, Burning him more than the flames ever could, And finally spread to his heart. The ice of his soul began to melt And slowly dwindled the scorching fire. The final flames licked his body And the last spark left with his life.
Snake EyesBy Megan CristHer quaint auburn hairflowed with elegancelike a willow.Her skin, like ebonysmooth in serenity.
Her eyes though,slink, flitting narrowly.Agonizing revulsionspiriling around hatred,
Silkly she slithersall grace drowned inher distinguished eyescontorting all beautyinto fog. Humanity's Fall By Ammas Tanveer
The essence of love lies dwindling in the hearts of humanity. For we exploit the good of others to spark our own desires. The agony of existences violates our souls and influences our hate. Hate, that transforms into an austere vision of indistinguishable fear. Our ultimatum is at hand, and the once luminous promise of hope has vanished. Mankind's rendezvous with death approaches, and the supremacy of civilization crumbles. Salvation is irrelevant.
King of Death By Yuriy Kamsha The gash on my chest bleeds outward,As I take my penultimate step.I walk with the grace of a czar,No one could doubt my elegance.Despite my distinguishable injury,A sweet smell fills the air,And i tread on silk.I slosh through the quagmire of corpses,What they had done in life is irrelevant,For what i have done is irrevocablHatred born of love,I smile bitter sweetly For i have killed them all.
The Child With Auburn Eyes By Serena Xu
The child with auburn eyes, Blazing eyes that illuminated the night sky with wonders, Had an irrevocable trust in safety and familiarity. He would not be exploited to the cruel world ahead, Instead he kept alone in his own serene peace. But as he grew older, he felt a sensation, An enigmatic sensation that would not leave his mind or soul. It began to mock him in a high-pitched falsetto, And agonizing pain surged through his veins constantly. But the child would not give in to the festering pulling, He wanted to stay in his quaint little house, hiding. Years passed and the child, now a man, began to realize That he wanted to reach out to the world Unfurling the feathers of his sheltered body. And once those feathers were open and earnest, His innocence vanished in a luminous mist Until all that was left was A child with auburn eyes.
Dark MistBy Shannon Gu She stands in a velvet dressAmid the mist of melancholy.While ebony waves slosh againstThe lacerations on her legs. She walks forward,Lethargic in her movements,An agonizing journey.Her heart flutters in fear,Face contorted in anguish. Thunder crashes in the distance. Sometimes she wishes she was a bird,Able to unfurl wings with tawny feathersAnd fly with eleganceAmong the willow trees,High above the derision,High above the hate... But that dream was too much. She could only hope to one dayFind the distinguishable spark in the mistIlluminating in the darkness of her soul. Defeat
By Zach Bluebond
Agonizing over the loss of the game,
In essence, the loss of his soul.
The supremacy of the other team apparent,
His statistics undoubtedly irrelevant.
The luminous light of the stars shone brightly,
Despite his pure hatred of the night.
The skittish fans in attendance frown upon his courageous soul.
The lollipops go to the extraordinary victor,
Not to the Marxist loser.
He wanted to lay siege upon the field of the dreaded opponent,
The quintessential field of excellence.
The antibiotics would heal his cuts and bruises,
Not the lacerations to his heart or image.
His thoughts dwindle over what could have been,
But like a true man,
He left the field with grace,
Never to be seen again.
The Quandary Of An Enigmatic Dressmaker
By Julia Weis
A group of loquacious women storm in
flitting about from shelf to shelf
unsatisfied with the ephemeral fads
much to my discomfiture
they crowd around my workplace
asking of the sign in the window
handmade dresses.
My shop is now a quarantine.
No one enters.
I do not exit.
I ask myself
quaint questions:
velvet or silk?
auburn or tawny?
The delicate lattice unfurls.
My creation.
A Storm
By Sydney Jones
Her grace angled,
Arms stretching for that
Quintessential calm.
Swathed in the inky shadows of past and future,
She tries to understand
The dance.
Thunder rolls as auburn sparks stain the sky.
Luminous revulsions illustrate
Her frightened figure.
Melancholy eclipses the
Ebony contrast,
Overwhelming that human tendency
To feel.
Yet,
A candle burns… fire flickering
In the wind
Tendrils of light slipping into
The moonless night.
Feathers ruffle, shaking the mist
That cages her freedom.
Until her wings unfurl,
And delicacy abandoned,
She flies.
Final Moments
By Caroline Lombardi
agonizingly, the clock ticks by
their time in class dwindling
as the barely comprehensible teacher
attempts to impart that knowledge to which
her loquacious students feel such revulsion.
they find it irrelevant, the information in this dreary lecture
quaint, the notion of required secondary education
totalitarian, the so-called supremacy of adults.
the eccentric teacher sighs as the boys mimic her in mocking falsetto
finally, the bell rings, and the students' discomfiture is translated
to energy, to a mad dash out the classroom door
at the bittersweet parting at the end of the day.
when finally, the very last layabouts, the only remaining stragglers
flit out the door, and all is silent,
they leave the aroma of cologne, sweat, and eraser shavings behind
The Boy and his Lollipop
By Austin Weng
If you were to go walking in the fall
All the trees ablaze in an auburn fire
You might see a boy resting alone
Under the caring willow tree
Hair like a porcupine and a lollipop dangling from his mouth
You would have thought nothing of this boy
So indistinguishable from the rest
Unless you looked into his eyes
There you could see a spark
And you could tell
That the boy had a perhaps someone
Who told him that spark would become a perhaps flame
A luminous fire
That would fill his lungs with warmth
Every time he took a breathe of the cool, autumn air
If you were to go walking in the winter
The trees bare and bleak
You might see a boy resting alone
Under the weeping willow
The spark is gone
And that perhaps flame if it ever existed
Had most likely contorted and dwindled
Before it even got a chance
And the boy
Hair flattened by the elements
Still sucked his lollipop
Now just a soggy stick
Until a cold wind ripped it from his mouth
As I Lay Dying
By Ada Zhang
I illuminate the dying spark.
It shines for a short while,
coughing and sputtering.
It screams,
the bittersweet tang of burning metal
expanding,
expanding,
until the copper tinges even the very air
red.
The spark dwindles,
a melancholy speck of light
among the tendrils of grasping shadows.
And the flames flicker to a final stop.
Darkness envelopes me, swathing me
in a choking embrace,
pushing me deeper,
deeper,
into its greedy arms.
I draw in an agonizing breath,
and my lungs contract in a painful way.
I exhale,
and there is nothing more.
But the copper remains,
settling on the dirty ground
in a shocking shade of red.
The Taste
By Justine Kim
Velvet notes
Silky and sweet, cool to the touch
Vanishing into the mist
Spraying delicate drops on my face.
A spark makes the notes skittish
Jumping up to a falsetto
Flitting, fluttering,
Rushing from the oboe's mouth
In a torrent of bittersweet sound
Insistent longing to be heard
Appetizing to the taste as the sound melts on the tongue
Like a buttery biscuit, rich and light
A lattice of flavors
The ebony instrument falls into austere silence
As the aroma of the lattice dances its way into the heart
Forever to stay
Enamored
By Harrison Zimba
Love was the essence of this svelte man
His distinguishable fidelity sparked hate amongst others
The aroma of loathing was repulsive
He could taste others anguish like acrid antibiotics
As he swallowed the bitter medicine he contorted his face
The man fluttered his eyelashes
The incomprehensible had occurred
He was addicted to infatuation
He was addicted to death.
Morning Coffee
By Isabelle Sackville-West
I slowly tip my mug
allowing the bitter dregs of coffee to subordinately
conform to my actions.
Her eyelids flutter
Outside a robin, red-breasted and proud
unfurls his great feathers
and thunders foreward into the morning mists.
My gaze returns to the child,
lethargically picking at her uneaten buscuit.
without a word she gracefully rises,
gingerly smooths her tawny hair,
and quitely exits the room.
"Bye"
I utter, my voice barely a wisper,
nothing more than a hopeless pianissimo.
Lovingly, I watch her go
knowing that my words are irrelevant.
The still morning's silence festers in my mind.
Zack Ragozzino
Lying in agonizing pain
My torso begins to contort.
Yesterday, I was king.
Now I lie, gargling my blood and saliva.
The lacerations on my back flow velvet.
My memories dwindle.
My hopes dwindle.
I dwindle.
My carpet, once silky smooth,
now soaks in the creamy remnants
of my defeated soul.
What will be left of me?
My festering corpse?
the feeling is bittersweet
as I lie here.
As my meloncholy brain
leaks sweet juices out my ears
and onto the ebony carpeting.
The gashes on my body will never fade,
but my conciousness will.
As the Night Fades
Elise Kronquist
The ink-black ebony velvet flows
gracefully through the window in a
luminous cascade over the pale,
moonlight floor. in the latticed window,
the moon shines like an ivory spark
against the midnight blue mist of the
night sky.
a loquacious clock chimes the stroke of
midnight, its deep resonant tones filling
the otherwise silky silence, its ethereal
eloquence unfurling into the melancholy shadows
of night, before surrendering to the noiseless chocolate
darkness once more. a silence so deep,
it reaches the elegant stars.
through the soft, deep
dark, the stars drift about
like feathers swallowed by a swathe
of icy winter wind.
their celestial beauty
illuminating the opaque darkness.
just beyond the horizon line, the sun
unfurls its thousand-fold petals like
a bud bursting into bloom, rays
lighting up the edge of the sky-
the edge of the world.
the serene moon sinks
lower in the sky, its delicate beauty
ephemeral as the sun dawns
in the bittersweet break of the
day.
Each Day Is A Rendezvous With Confusion
Diana Oppenheimer
My fine fiend,
Let me tell you about the day
I just succint a hole in one and
Last night
A dashing young spark appeared
Amid the superfluous ultimatums of the council
Aroma arrived from Rome
He, a mortician by trade, said
Very gravely,
"Sleeping Beauty shtick her finger on a dwindle
And died."
Oh, horror.
We wept against the shenanigans of the world,
So that the Pope was moved to say:
"Haebeus Corpus"
With such fever that his audience immediately
Took to their beds with
Nuclear temperatures.
Phosphorus the signs all say
Phos will seize power for us.
And the Scarlet Pumpernickel will ride again,
Never fear, they cry.
But I say nothing.
Sai,
I breathe irrevocably,
Because who
Really
Knows what to think.
Quite a Quandary...Cameron Smith
I'm in quite the quandaryYou see, it started with a few shenanigans.I didn't mean for it to end in lacerationsOr a nuclear meltdownOr Marxism.My quandary is whether or not to tell the livid CzarThat I used oranges to disintergrate the phosphorus stabilizerOranges are irrelevant, sorryI meant to say citrus.I guess I just have fruit on the mindLuscious, velvet fruitThey have such a lovely aroma.SorryI shouldn't have played alchemist.I didnt want to cause such a massacreThat resulted in the manslaughter of the Arch-Duke.I give my condolencesfor causing world war three.
A Sea of WordsBy Isabel Skene
Dive into the depths of the sea of wordsSee them elegantly twisting and turningSerene, silent in the ebb and flow of the waterThey are whisperingCan you hear them? The delicate words with their melancholy tuneLuminous in the clear blue waterPass by poignant, it cools its feathers in the shallowsSkirt pass skittish, the letters contort themselvesAs they dart nervously away Deeper and deeper into the sea, the sky is auburn and the water below is black as ebonyThe darkness closes in, but the words remainJuxtapose, loquacious, porcupineThey roll through the waves,Their sharp consonants skipping over the sandy floorCaught in a riptide of quintessentialFloat past a school of enigmatic, Scales flashing as they flit to and froSuffocated in a swarm of discomfitureGnashing their teeth as they battleOver the lone indigenous, the intended prayIt is too fast for themA spark of irrevocable, the light reflecting of the twin r's, like a pair of soldiers standing at attentionA current catches, and drags the words in with the tideThe sea is devoid of words, the light dwindlesIt is over.
Rainby Voni Kengla
Beyond the windowthroughout the serene forestsa delicate mis begins to swarmIts melancholy gracedwindles into furythunder crashes its cymbalslightning illuminates the skyMy house is under siegeIt pounds upon the roofloud as marbles on hardwood floorthe wind whips the helpless, drooping willow treesthe storm drowns the bright flowers in its angeras the winds blow their penultimate gusts,the mist returnsthe silky leaves of dripping plantsand the velvet, soggy dirtand the fresh aromaof rainlingers
An Oboist's Viewby Neeka Safdari
Oblong oboe in hand,the performer descended elegantly upon the staircase,leading her to a serene, awed crowd,in front of whom she played a delicate, uplifting piece.Gracefully,she left the previously lethargic mass to dance.Once the newly infatuated audience clapped in dazzled wonderment,she quaintly bowed, allowing a slight smile to take her lips,for she knew the crowd enjoyed each falsetto, each note she played,and she felt extraordinary.
Daylight Come At Last
By Blake Peebles
The dregs of hate.
The meloncholy slosh of ebony night.A silky malice amon the darkness.Hope is lost.Lost.But then a spark,a quick flit of love.The elvenesse curve of daylight come at last.Luminous, magical, delicate hope.Hope.
Somber Summer's EveBy Julia Porter
As the sunlight dwindled,A serene essence fell on the room.Silky eyelashes flutteredIn a melancholy grace.Auburn hair illuminatedThe delicate features luminous.Bittersweet emotions rose then fell,The velvet mist settled on an ebony sky.
ReleaseBy Rachel Rise
I sit.Shadows flit by in my head.They fumigate me,eviscerating my conscience.Quietly a lattice of nothingsnakes itself through my shell,slinking far beyond the depthsof my perception.
"Hello," it says."This is the zodiac speaking."
It its deep ebony fibers,there is a new growth.It feeds on my festering emotionand releases its burrs to the remains.It contorts me into shadow.
"I'm waiting," it says.
I understand what it means.I cough, gargle, hurlup the dregs of my human soul.A black mist fills my head.A bittersweet release.
The Diabetic
Melissa Liu
Melancholy starved him,
The gloom ate his heart as
It suddenly caught fire,
A luminous sight.
He watched the auburn flames engulf his body.
He watched his untamed, tawny hair catch on fire.
He watched as a bottle appeared in hand,
The elixir that contained all the happiness drained from him.
His feeble hand rose,
Lifting the flask of gold,
But fell back as the holocaust spread to his hands.
The elixir flowed out like molten gold,
The intoxicating aroma filled his mind
The tingling, warm sensation spread through his body,
Burning him more than the flames ever could,
And finally spread to his heart.
The ice of his soul began to melt
And slowly dwindled the scorching fire.
The final flames licked his body
And the last spark left with his life.
Snake EyesBy Megan CristHer quaint auburn hairflowed with elegancelike a willow.Her skin, like ebonysmooth in serenity.
Her eyes though,slink, flitting narrowly.Agonizing revulsionspiriling around hatred,
Silkly she slithersall grace drowned inher distinguished eyescontorting all beautyinto fog.
Humanity's Fall
By Ammas Tanveer
The essence of love lies dwindling in
the hearts of humanity. For we
exploit the good of others to spark our own desires.
The agony of existences violates our souls and
influences our hate. Hate, that transforms into an
austere vision of indistinguishable fear.
Our ultimatum is at hand, and
the once luminous promise of hope has vanished.
Mankind's rendezvous with death approaches, and
the supremacy of civilization crumbles.
Salvation is irrelevant.
King of Death
By Yuriy Kamsha
The gash on my chest bleeds outward,As I take my penultimate step.I walk with the grace of a czar,No one could doubt my elegance.Despite my distinguishable injury,A sweet smell fills the air,And i tread on silk.I slosh through the quagmire of corpses,What they had done in life is irrelevant,For what i have done is irrevocablHatred born of love,I smile bitter sweetly
For i have killed them all.
The Child With Auburn Eyes
By Serena Xu
The child with auburn eyes,
Blazing eyes that illuminated the night sky with wonders,
Had an irrevocable trust in safety and familiarity.
He would not be exploited to the cruel world ahead,
Instead he kept alone in his own serene peace.
But as he grew older, he felt a sensation,
An enigmatic sensation that would not leave his mind or soul.
It began to mock him in a high-pitched falsetto,
And agonizing pain surged through his veins constantly.
But the child would not give in to the festering pulling,
He wanted to stay in his quaint little house, hiding.
Years passed and the child, now a man, began to realize
That he wanted to reach out to the world
Unfurling the feathers of his sheltered body.
And once those feathers were open and earnest,
His innocence vanished in a luminous mist
Until all that was left was
A child with auburn eyes.
Dark MistBy Shannon Gu
She stands in a velvet dressAmid the mist of melancholy.While ebony waves slosh againstThe lacerations on her legs.
She walks forward,Lethargic in her movements,An agonizing journey.Her heart flutters in fear,Face contorted in anguish.
Thunder crashes in the distance.
Sometimes she wishes she was a bird,Able to unfurl wings with tawny feathersAnd fly with eleganceAmong the willow trees,High above the derision,High above the hate...
But that dream was too much.
She could only hope to one dayFind the distinguishable spark in the mistIlluminating in the darkness of her soul.
Defeat
By Zach Bluebond
Agonizing over the loss of the game,
In essence, the loss of his soul.
The supremacy of the other team apparent,
His statistics undoubtedly irrelevant.
The luminous light of the stars shone brightly,
Despite his pure hatred of the night.
The skittish fans in attendance frown upon his courageous soul.
The lollipops go to the extraordinary victor,
Not to the Marxist loser.
He wanted to lay siege upon the field of the dreaded opponent,
The quintessential field of excellence.
The antibiotics would heal his cuts and bruises,
Not the lacerations to his heart or image.
His thoughts dwindle over what could have been,
But like a true man,
He left the field with grace,
Never to be seen again.
The Quandary Of An Enigmatic Dressmaker
By Julia Weis
A group of loquacious women storm in
flitting about from shelf to shelf
unsatisfied with the ephemeral fads
much to my discomfiture
they crowd around my workplace
asking of the sign in the window
handmade dresses.
My shop is now a quarantine.
No one enters.
I do not exit.
I ask myself
quaint questions:
velvet or silk?
auburn or tawny?
The delicate lattice unfurls.
My creation.
A Storm
By Sydney Jones
Her grace angled,
Arms stretching for that
Quintessential calm.
Swathed in the inky shadows of past and future,
She tries to understand
The dance.
Thunder rolls as auburn sparks stain the sky.
Luminous revulsions illustrate
Her frightened figure.
Melancholy eclipses the
Ebony contrast,
Overwhelming that human tendency
To feel.
Yet,
A candle burns… fire flickering
In the wind
Tendrils of light slipping into
The moonless night.
Feathers ruffle, shaking the mist
That cages her freedom.
Until her wings unfurl,
And delicacy abandoned,
She flies.
Final Moments
By Caroline Lombardi
agonizingly, the clock ticks by
their time in class dwindling
as the barely comprehensible teacher
attempts to impart that knowledge to which
her loquacious students feel such revulsion.
they find it irrelevant, the information in this dreary lecture
quaint, the notion of required secondary education
totalitarian, the so-called supremacy of adults.
the eccentric teacher sighs as the boys mimic her in mocking falsetto
finally, the bell rings, and the students' discomfiture is translated
to energy, to a mad dash out the classroom door
at the bittersweet parting at the end of the day.
when finally, the very last layabouts, the only remaining stragglers
flit out the door, and all is silent,
they leave the aroma of cologne, sweat, and eraser shavings behind
The Boy and his Lollipop
By Austin Weng
If you were to go walking in the fall
All the trees ablaze in an auburn fire
You might see a boy resting alone
Under the caring willow tree
Hair like a porcupine and a lollipop dangling from his mouth
You would have thought nothing of this boy
So indistinguishable from the rest
Unless you looked into his eyes
There you could see a spark
And you could tell
That the boy had a perhaps someone
Who told him that spark would become a perhaps flame
A luminous fire
That would fill his lungs with warmth
Every time he took a breathe of the cool, autumn air
If you were to go walking in the winter
The trees bare and bleak
You might see a boy resting alone
Under the weeping willow
The spark is gone
And that perhaps flame if it ever existed
Had most likely contorted and dwindled
Before it even got a chance
And the boy
Hair flattened by the elements
Still sucked his lollipop
Now just a soggy stick
Until a cold wind ripped it from his mouth
As I Lay Dying
By Ada Zhang
I illuminate the dying spark.
It shines for a short while,
coughing and sputtering.
It screams,
the bittersweet tang of burning metal
expanding,
expanding,
until the copper tinges even the very air
red.
The spark dwindles,
a melancholy speck of light
among the tendrils of grasping shadows.
And the flames flicker to a final stop.
Darkness envelopes me, swathing me
in a choking embrace,
pushing me deeper,
deeper,
into its greedy arms.
I draw in an agonizing breath,
and my lungs contract in a painful way.
I exhale,
and there is nothing more.
But the copper remains,
settling on the dirty ground
in a shocking shade of red.
The Taste
By Justine Kim
Velvet notes
Silky and sweet, cool to the touch
Vanishing into the mist
Spraying delicate drops on my face.
A spark makes the notes skittish
Jumping up to a falsetto
Flitting, fluttering,
Rushing from the oboe's mouth
In a torrent of bittersweet sound
Insistent longing to be heard
Appetizing to the taste as the sound melts on the tongue
Like a buttery biscuit, rich and light
A lattice of flavors
The ebony instrument falls into austere silence
As the aroma of the lattice dances its way into the heart
Forever to stay
Enamored
By Harrison Zimba
Love was the essence of this svelte man
His distinguishable fidelity sparked hate amongst others
The aroma of loathing was repulsive
He could taste others anguish like acrid antibiotics
As he swallowed the bitter medicine he contorted his face
The man fluttered his eyelashes
The incomprehensible had occurred
He was addicted to infatuation
He was addicted to death.
Morning Coffee
By Isabelle Sackville-West
I slowly tip my mug
allowing the bitter dregs of coffee to subordinately
conform to my actions.
Her eyelids flutter
Outside a robin, red-breasted and proud
unfurls his great feathers
and thunders foreward into the morning mists.
My gaze returns to the child,
lethargically picking at her uneaten buscuit.
without a word she gracefully rises,
gingerly smooths her tawny hair,
and quitely exits the room.
"Bye"
I utter, my voice barely a wisper,
nothing more than a hopeless pianissimo.
Lovingly, I watch her go
knowing that my words are irrelevant.
The still morning's silence festers in my mind.